The Woman In the Painting by Cathryn Grant

Author:Cathryn Grant [Grant, Cathryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, American Suspense, psychological thriller, sociopath, killer, Vigilante
Published: 2016-11-02T04:00:00+00:00

43

Portland

Despite my mother’s intimidation, I let Denny continue walking me home. Instead of sitting on the stone wall with me, he now stopped at the corner. I walked to my house and around to the backyard where the lawn sloped down to a wooded area. I went a few yards into the trees, sat on a fallen log, and waited.

About ten minutes later, Denny would saunter through the woods, having accessed the area from a house a few doors down from ours. It was the house where a woman whose son had murdered her violently abusive husband lived as a recluse. The drapes in her home were always drawn. This made it easy to use her backyard to access other yards and the wooded area, as well as providing a place where kids occasionally hung out after dark, smoking or making out. Her yard was party-central and her drapes blinded her to that fact.

Once Denny and I had the privacy of the wooded area, making out became our top priority. We spent the late afternoon until close to sunset with our arms around each other, our tongues twisted together, and our hearts thudding with slow, heavy pleasure.

About a week after we settled into our new meeting place, my mother came out to the backyard one afternoon. She walked along the porch, arms squeezed across each other in an effort to keep herself warm. She walked down the steps and hovered around her garden, plucking absently at dead leaves.

For a few days we didn’t see her, and then she was there again. This time, she went to the edge of the porch and stared into the wooded area as if she knew we were there. And maybe she did. Maybe she’d known all along. She quickly descended the steps, walked across the lawn, and down the sloped section to where we sat.

Of course, we’d not only stopped kissing, we’d put two feet of space between us on the log. Because she’d seemed to look directly at us, I wasn’t sure if she’d observed the kissing or not.

She walked right up to Denny. “Who are you?”

He stood and extended his right hand. Point one.

She stepped back with an apologetic smile. She slowly extended her hand.

“I’m in Alexandra’s civics class. Denny Baker. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Mallory.” He took her hand. Point two.

She giggled.

I stared. Who was this woman?

“Nice to meet you, Denny. Do you live around here?”

“On Harrison.”

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s a nice area.”

I waited for her to ask where he went to church. She didn’t. I waited for her to invite him to our church. My parents were always inviting our friends to visit our church. Despite my parents’ rather extreme, and harsh beliefs, they worried. Those extreme beliefs meant they felt with their entire being that anyone who didn’t believe the same was destined for eternal separation from their creator. They wanted to be sure every single person they met had a chance to escape the horror of living in utter darkness, filled with unimaginable pain for eternity.

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